


Half-Remembered

by Wolfsong6913



Series: Magic is in the Bones [1]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Jail, Kid-Douxie is terrible at hiding it, Not-so-secret Magic, OCs to fill out world, Prison, not graphic, some violence against a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsong6913/pseuds/Wolfsong6913
Summary: Douxie and Archie have been together for a long time. The longest time, one could argue. For nine hundred years, they have breathed, moved, fought, and lived together. Nine hundred years, until Douxie alone remained the last wizard on earth. Over that time, many stories have been told about and through them.This then, is their first story.Nine hundred years ago, when they first met.
Relationships: Archie & Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan
Series: Magic is in the Bones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190108
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Twists of Fate

“Get out of here, brat!”

The clanging impact of stones on the door frame followed Douxie as he darted out of the shop.

“Sorry!” he called mournfully back over his shoulder. “I won’t try it again, I promise.”

A low growl was his only answer, followed by the slam of the shop door.

His face set into carefully arranged lines of penitence and misery, Douxie scuttled into the shadows of the narrow alley across the street. As soon as he was sure no one could see him, his grin flowered on his face. He withdrew a small canvas bag from his baggy tunic, and tugged open the drawstring. 

“Score!” he whispered, sinking to sit cross-legged in the dust. “Flavored jerky!” He pulled a bite of tough dried meat out of the bag, and shoved it eagerly in his mouth. His face crinkled as the flavor sank into his tongue. “Spicy!” he panted as he hastily swallowed. “Too spicy.” He eyed the bag uncertainly. Though his face was unconvinced, his stomach was not, as a loud gurgle emanated from his midsection. He winced, but ate another small piece anyway. 

“It’s like it’s on fire,” he muttered in disgust. 

He pulled a third piece out of the bag just as a rising caterwaul echoed down the alley. Douxie flinched, dropped the jerky into the dirt at his feet. 

The sound came again, and he leapt to his feet, the jerky forgotten. He shoved the bag back into the folds of his tunic, and hurried towards the sound. 

The alley was long, and narrow, and darkened to almost pitch black in the center, the sun blocked by the walls and peaked roofs around it. As Douxie kept forging on, it lightened just enough to see a pair of boys, maybe ten or twelve years old, laughing and using long sticks to poke a dark lump on the ground. The lump shifted, and the sound emerged from it again, a rising screech like a tomcat mixed with a hawk. Light glinted off a pair of brilliant green eyes, and Douxie realized with a thrill of horror that it was a small black cat - hardly more than a kitten. 

“Hey!” Douxie tried to yell, though it came out as more of a squeak. “What’d the kitten ever do to you?”

The boys turned to look at the interloper. The one on the right laughed cruelly. “What do you think this baby wants?” he asked the other boy.

“He looks like he wants a bottle of milk,” the other snickered.

“I’m six,” Douxie protested. He thought he was, at least. It was probably accurate. Besides, his age wasn’t what mattered here! “Let the cat go!”

The older boys laughed again, and one of them threw his stick at Douxie with an accompanying shout of, “Get lost, baby!”. Douxie threw up his arms to cover his face, and the stick smacked solidly into his exposed forearms before clattering to the ground. He lowered them slowly, blinking back tears as the skin on his arms prickled and stung in response to the blow.

“Aw, look at the baby crying,” jeered the boy who’d thrown the stick. “Just go away, baby. This ain’t none of your business.”

Scowling now to fight off the tears, Douxie dug his hands into the tattered pouch tied at his side. The rough edges of pebbles and shards of stone dug into his small, sweaty palms. “Let the cat go,” he said one more time, fighting to keep his voice level.

The boys just grinned, and the one who still had his stick reared back to throw it at Douxie too. He had no choice. 

“Tempus Increasus!” he shrieked, as he threw the stones at the boys with all his meagre strength.

Midair, the tiny pebbles began to glow with a burning blue light, and in a blur of motion, they accelerated suddenly and smacked into the boys’ unprotected face and skin. One still had his arm raised to throw his stick. They shrieked as the stones hit, and the one with the stick threw it at Douxie, but he was thrown off by the unexpected impact, and the stick clattered uselessly to the ground only a few feet away. 

“What did you - “ one of the boys sputtered, caught off guard.

“It was him!” the other cried, pointing at Douxie. “He’s a freak!”

“Let’s get away!” the first boy said, backing quickly away. “I don’t want to be near no freak!”

The boys fled as fast as their feet could carry them, leaving the alley empty but for a still-shaking Douxie, and a huddled ball of black fur. He forced his fists to uncurl, and hurried forward to crouch beside the kitten, brushing a hesitant hand over coarse black fur. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered, stroking it gently. Its fur was rough with ill-living, but still soft. It raised its head and looked at him with wide, shining green eyes. It blinked, and he grinned, reveling in the warm glow that came from protecting this beautiful little creature.

It blinked again, then several times in rapid succession, then started pawing at its eyes. Douxie’s grin fell. “Oh no! Are you okay, little guy?”

“My glasses!” the kitten cried. “Where are my glasses?”

Douxie stared, his thoughts a muddled mix of, _glasses? Had the cat just asked where its glasses were?_ Which flowed quickly into, _had it just_ asked _where its glasses were?!_

“Why do you need glasses?” he asked stupidly.

“Because I can’t see without them,” the cat hissed irritably. As if it were obvious.

“Uh - “ Douxie glanced around. A glint of light caught his eye, and he reached down and picked an incredibly small pair of spectacles off the ground. Miraculously, they appeared dusty, but undamaged, and he attempted to scrub the lenses with the cleanest patch of his sleeve he could find. “Are these them?”

The cat snatched them out of his palm, and shoved them onto its face, balancing the bridge on its muzzle. It blinked, looked around, and finally focused on Douxie’s face. 

“At last! Street child, you have earned my gratitude for saving me from those brutes.”

“Er... You’re welcome?” said Douxie. “Um - why can you talk?”

The cat gave Douxie a sharp look. “Why can you?”

Douxie had never really thought about that much before, if ever. “Because I can?” he ventured uncertainly.

“Well, so can I,” the cat sniffed. It sat up on its hind legs, revealing a circular patch of white fur, nearly covered by mud. “Archibald the cat-dragon, at your service. And you are?”

“Douxie,” said Douxie automatically. “You don’t look much like a dragon.”

“For a young wizard, you are surprisingly clueless,” Archibald sighed. “I am a familiar, to wizards such as yourself. That means, though I was born a dragon, I have chosen to be a cat as well.”

There were so many strange things about that explanation, Douxie wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I’m not a wizard,” he said. “Why would you call me one? What do familiars do? Does that mean you can turn into a dragon too? Why a cat? Why couldn’t you save yourself from the kids if you’re a dragon?”

“Goodness, aren’t you just full of questions,” Archibald muttered. He licked a paw and drew it over his ears, smoothing the ruffled fur. “Let me see… You used magic just now, so you are a wizard, or least have the potential to be one. Familiars are there to be a wizard’s conscience, as well as provide magical support. Their assistant, so to speak. Yes, I can turn into a dragon. Cats are unpredictable, and so am I. As for the boys, well - “ his ears flattened against his head, and he scraped a paw over the ground. “ThisismyfirstformandIhaven’tquitefiguredouthowtoturnbackyet,” he said in a rush.

Douxie frowned as he worked that out. “You mean you’re stuck like this?”

“Shh! Not so loud!” Archibald gave his chest a few quick licks. “Enough about me. Where did you learn that spell?”

“The thing with the rocks?” Douxie opened his hand, and looked at his dirt-smudged palm. “I’ve always used magic on stuff to do it better, but I figured out if I said words, it would work better.”

“So you made it up?” When Douxie nodded, Archibald flicked his tail, and said, “Very impressive. Why ‘tempus’ though, instead of ‘speed’, or something else?”

Douxie wrinkled up his nose. “I tried, but it didn’t sound right. So I asked a bunch of people about words for speed, an’ this musician told me ‘tempo’, and it worked a lot better. Plus, I like music.”

“An artist. Of course.” Archibald sighed. With a swish of his tail, he rose, stretched out his long body, and padded up to Douxie’s side, nudging into his tunic. “You have food?”

Douxie started. “Oh! You want some?” He dug around in his tunic for the jerky bag, and offered some to the cat. “Archib - can I call you Archie?”

“If you must,” Archie said, engrossed with licking every last jerky scrap off his palm. 

“Archie, if I’m a wizard, and you work for wizards, can you be… be… “ Douxie stammered, then stopped. He didn’t want to say it out loud. What if the cat said no? What if he left? No one had wanted to stay with Douxie for years. Why would this change now? “Never mind,” he mumbled.

“I see this will be very difficult indeed,” Archie sighed, licking his paws clean. “Boy, if I am to be your familiar, you’d better learn to speak your mind, you hear me? Cats and dragons are very blunt creatures, I won’t mind.”

Douxie looked up, startled. “You’ll be my familiar?”

“Adult wizards are too hard-headed to be properly trained,” Archie sniffed. Deciding that there were no more jerky scraps to be found, he half-leapt, half-clawed his way up Douxie’s arm, and settled down across his shoulders. “Better to start them young, my father always said.”

Douxie found he couldn’t keep his grin off his face. Deciding this called for a celebration, he tipped the last few pieces of jerky into his palm, offered one to Archie, and ate the last one himself. 

Even the fire in his mouth wasn’t enough to keep him from grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so their adventure begins!
> 
> I'm doing a lot of headcanon on Douxie's childhood, and his early meetings with the characters we know and love in the show. This is purely for my own enjoyment, and to lay my ideas out coherently, but if you enjoyed it as well, feel free to tell me what you like, and how you think it could be better!
> 
> Planning to update weekly, OR if the previous chapter gets over 10 comments from different people, I will post the next chapter then.


	2. Ill-Fated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a headcanon dump here regarding Douxie's family and early life. I feel like I'm doing a lot of research into what medieval peasant life would be like, and then simultaneously disregarding it and making up my own thing. I mean, the medieval talking cat has glasses! This is not authentic! ;P

Douxie groaned as the bright light of the sun penetrated his closed eyelids. He tugged his head down into the neck of his tunic, seeking desperately for just a little more darkness. A firm nudge against his side kept him from sleep, and he waved a hand blindly towards the culprit. “Go ‘way,” he mumbled. “Sleeping.”

“If someone finds you sleeping out here, we’re going to have a repeat of yesterday,” a polished voice reprimanded him sternly. “Besides, who wastes away a perfectly good morning by sleeping?”

“Cats,” Douxie said stubbornly, not daring to open his eyes. “Who was it who spent half the day yesterday napping down my tunic?”

“The middle of the day is a perfectly permissible time to sleep,” Archie responded, affront clear in his tone. “Dawn is an entirely different matter.”

“Hmm.” Douxie felt himself drifting into sleep again. He was almost completely relaxed when - “Ouch!” He sat bolt upright, rubbing the shell of his ear. “Did you just bite me?!”

Archie flicked his tail, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You asked me to make sure you didn’t sleep in public anymore.”

“I didn’t mean by biting me,” Douxie murmured sullenly. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around. It had been a warm night last night, so he had chosen to sleep under a bush by the edge of the village marketplace. The square was still devoid of people, but smoke was drifting up from nearby chimneys, and voices starting to filter in. He pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his hands together to warm them. “I guess you were right to wake me,” he said reluctantly. 

Archie purred, and leapt up Douxie’s side to his shoulder, where he rubbed his head against Douxie’s ear. “I am never wrong,” he said dismissively. “Shall we see about breakfast now?”

Douxie nodded, and set off down the street. They had only gone two or three paces, when he stopped, staring into the windows of a small cottage right next to the marketplace. “Archie,” he said. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Not a clue,” Archie said. “Does it matter?”

“If it’s Wednesday, that means Hawisa will give me some food,” Douxie beamed. He darted around the side of the cottage, heading towards the large shuttered window on the side. “She was a friend of my mother’s,” he explained, “An’ every Wednesday she gives me whatever bread she has leftover from the week, and makes sure I’m doing alright.”

“Does she?” Archie murmured. “How kind of her.” 

His tone left Douxie uncertain of whether he meant it or not, and he turned it over in his mind for a moment before deciding to let it pass. “Yeah,” he agreed cheerfully. He stopped in front of the window, fist raised to knock, and frowned at the cat on his shoulder. “Um, maybe you shouldn’t talk while we’re in here. And, uh, take off the glasses?”

Archie’s face twisted into what was clearly an expression of annoyance, but he pawed the glasses off his muzzle and into Douxie’s outstretched hand. “Keep them safe, then,” he said.

“I will,” Douxie promised, tucking them away in his pouch. He turned back to the window and knocked firmly on the sill. 

A moment passed, then footsteps were heard inside, and the shutters were flung open with such force that Archie’s whiskers bristled, and his claws dug into Douxie’s chest and back. 

“Well if it isn’t young Douxie!” 

Hawisa’s sharp eyes bored fiercely into Douxie’s face, and he offered her a hesitant grin. “Good morn, Hawisa,” he said. “Got any food for me?”

Hawisa sniffed sharply. “ _What_ is that on your shoulder?” she demanded.

“Uh, this is Archie. He’s my cat.”

“A street cat.” Hawisa sighed. “Make sure he doesn’t get into anything.”

“Okay!”

_“Anything.”_

“Yeah, for sure!” Douxie gave her his best smile. “Can I come in?”

She sighed again, and stepped back. “If you must.”

Douxie scrambled over the sill into the cottage. He sat down on the proffered stool, took Archie off his shoulder and set him at his feet. “How’ve you been, Hawisa?” he asked politely. 

“Winter is coming soon,” Hawisa said stiffly. “Flour will be scarce soon.”

“Uh…” Douxie exchanged a glance with Archie. “Okay.”

Hawisa turned around and shoved a stale loaf of bread and a tumbler into his hands, then seated herself on the chair nearby. “Do you miss your mother, Douxie?” she asked abruptly.

Douxie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and bit into the loaf of bread. “Sure,” he said. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Tell me what you remember about her,” Hawisa commanded.

Douxie hunched his shoulders and avoided Hawisa’s gaze. He was grateful for Hawisa sharing her food with him, but he never liked telling her this sort of personal stuff. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “She would sing, sometimes, when it was just us.”

“What sort of people did she know?” Hawisa asked. “Did she ever have any visitors? Did you ever meet any strange men”

“What do you mean?” Douxie asked. His grip on the bread tightened until crumbs fell to the floor. “My mother loved my father!”

“No, not that!” Hawisa snapped impatiently. “Normal visitors. Strangers passing through. Any of that?”

“No.” Douxie was done for today. He shoved the last of the bread into his mouth and washed it down with a swig from the tumbler. “Thanks for the bread, Hawisa. Come on, Archie.” He stood, and realised Archie wasn’t sitting at his feet. “Archie?”

A meow sounded, and Archie came bounding in from the back room of the cottage. He rubbed against Douxie’s legs, and Douxie scooped him up into his arms before Hawisa could speak. “I’ll see you next week,” he said, and darted out of the cottage.

Rather than scurry down the main square - which was rapidly filling with townsfolk, Douxie ran down a side street until the cottages faded out into farmland - still densely populated, but with much more privacy. His feet led him across a well-memorised path of their own volition, through the maze of crops in the fields, ducking under leaning, rotting fences, and darting across dusty footpaths. He forced himself to stop before he could cross the final field, and set Archie down beside him. He pointed to a tiny cottage - barely more than a hut - across the field of waving wheat. “That was my house,” he said, feeling obliged to explain why he’d dragged Archie so far out of town without a word. 

Archie, who had been silent up till now, tilted his head and squinted obligingly. “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he said.

Douxie started. “Oh! Your glasses!” He pulled them from his pouch and handed them over. “Sorry.”

“No harm done.” Archie licked a paw and polished the lenses before sliding them on. “Ah! Much better.” He examined the little hut. “Did your family farm the land here as well?” He prodded a stalk of wheat with a paw. 

Douxie shook his head. “No. My father worked herding cattle. Ranulf Casperon. We had none of our own, but he’d work for whoever wanted his help.” He bit his lip, thinking back. “Sometimes, they’d give him things instead of money to pay. The tanner used to give him extra scraps of leather, and Mum would use them to patch my shoes.” He looked down at his feet, encased in cloth so thin and full of holes they might as well have been bare. “That was a long time ago, though.”

Archie rubbed against Douxie’s ankle. “Do you want to tell me what happened to them?”

Douxie hunched down, sitting on the dusty road and pulling his knees close to his chest. “I don’t mind telling you, Arch.” He worked his fingers into the loose fur on Archie’s scruff, massaging his neck as the cat purred. “I’m not actually sure what happened to Da. I - I think - “ he strained his mind, trying to pick words out from his memories of confusion and wails. “I think there was a bull? I guess he was trying to stop it, and the herd stampeded, and he was trampled.” He tucked his chin down into his wrist. “Mum used to sing all the time,” he said. “But I never heard her say anything after that. She was going to have a baby, you know. A couple of days after they told us about Da, the baby started to come. They sent me out of the house. I waited by the road here all day. I remember I’d just seen the first stars when they came out and told me my mum and sister were both dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Archie said gently, nudging Douxie’s hand until he returned to stretching his neck. “That sounds difficult for a youngling to bear. What happened to you then? They surely didn’t just turn a young orphan out onto the streets.”

Douxie shook his head, and smiled at Archie, though it felt tremulous, and didn’t sit right on his face. “I don’t think there was any kin of my mum or da left,” he explained. “Someone else moved into the house there. They told me I could stay with them, but it wasn’t right. I didn’t want them, and they didn’t want me. So I left.” He shrugged. “I’m fine though! I have you now, and Hawisa gives me food sometimes.”

“Yes,” Archie murmured, his eyes narrowing into slits. “She does… Excuse me for asking, but why does she give you food?”

Douxie frowned. “I dunno. She says she was friends with my mum.”

“Did you ever see your mum talking to her?” Archie asked. “Did they visit regularly?”

“I don’t think so. The first time I met her was after Mum died. She came up to me one morning asking if I was Douxie, and she had food for me if I was.”

“Hmm.” Archie was silent for a long minute. “Have you ever been in that back room of hers, with her bed?” When Douxie shook his head in response, Archie stood up and stretched out a long stretch. “Would you be amenable to luring Hawisa away from her house and taking a peek? There’s something in there I’d like to ask you about.”

Douxie tilted his head to one side, intrigued. “What is it?” 

Archie twitched his whiskers and looked away. “Are you amenable?”

“Depends what ah-mean-able means.”

“Are you with me? Do you agree?”

Douxie thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. I’m always up for playing a few tricks.” He stood, and took a few paces down the path. “Want me to carry you again?”

“No thanks, I’ll walk.”

After a few meters of tall undergrowth and muddy trails, Archie clawed up Douxie’s side to his shoulder. Douxie smiled, and they kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I paid attention to how many people commented on the last chapter, and I think this time around, if I get 5 comments on this chapter, I will post the next one early.
> 
> Until then, or next Monday!


End file.
